Alaa Al Aswany - Chicago

“Why did he accept, and why was he so enthusiastic at the beginning?”

“A man may sometimes try to overcome his fear then fail.”

~~~~~~~~~

I went home at about midnight. I took off my clothes and threw myself on the bed and was soon fast asleep. I still remember what happened in an uncertain way, as if recalling a dream. I opened my eyes and saw shadows moving in the dark of the room. I was frightened and stayed in that state between being awake and being in a dream until the light was turned on and I saw them clearly. They were three large American men, two in military uniform and the third in civilian clothes. It was very clear that he was in charge. He came over to me and said, as he showed a card from his inside pocket, “FBI. We have a search warrant and another for your arrest.”

It took me a while to collect my thoughts, and then I asked him why. He said, “We’ll show you the information we have later on.”

He was talking to me as the other two were carefully searching the house. Finally he allowed me to put on my clothes. He came over to me and put the handcuffs on. Strangely enough, I gave in, as if I were hypnotized and had no will. We rode in a large car driven by a black driver with whom the man in charge rode in front. The two military men sat on either side of me in the backseat. I said as I tried to concentrate again, “I want to see your badge again.”

He was taken aback for a moment then reached in his pocket in slow, suppressed anger and showed the badge. We remained silent. After about half an hour, we arrived at an isolated building in north Chicago, surrounded by a garden and a winding driveway that we ascended in the car until we stopped at the entrance. There were some guards who gave military salutes. We entered an office on the left side of the hallway. As soon as the door was closed, the features of the man in charge changed. The muscles of his face contracted, as if he were grinding his teeth. He fixed me with a stern look and said, “We have definitive information that you are part of a cell planning a terrorist attack in the United States. What do you say to that?”

I remained silent. Events were moving too fast for me to think. He got so close to me I could smell a light aftershave scent. He shouted angrily, “Speak! Are you deaf?”

Then suddenly he slapped me in the face. I felt a sharp stinging heat and a dark spot began to form on my left eye. I shouted in a raspy voice, “You have no right to hit me. What you’re doing is illegal.”

He slapped me again several times then punched me hard in the belly. I felt nauseated and was about to lose consciousness. “Egyptian intelligence has given us everything about the organization you belong to. It’s no use denying it.”

“All of this is made up.”

He hit me again. I began to feel sticky blood trickling down from my nose onto my lips. He shouted in an angry voice, “Speak, you son of a bitch. Why do you want to destroy our country? We’ve opened America’s doors to you. We welcomed you to get an education and become a respectable human being. In return you are conspiring to kill innocent Americans. If you don’t confess, I’ll do to you what they do in your country: whip you, give you electric shocks, and rape you.”

Dr. Bill Friedman bowed his head and placed it between his hands. Chris was sitting before him. The silence was so profound that the soft music from the PA system sounded melancholy. He looked at her and asked, “When did Salah’s problem begin?”

“A year ago.”

“Did he see a doctor?”

“He went once and refused to continue.”

“I thought the change I noticed was because of work exhaustion.”

“He’s sick, Bill. Since he came back from the Egyptian president’s meeting his condition has deteriorated rapidly. He hasn’t eaten or slept in three days. The doctor says that under such conditions he has to be involuntarily institutionalized.”

“Involuntarily?”

“Yes. The usual practice is to forcibly inject him with a tranquilizer, then move him to the hospital.”

“If that’s the only way to help him, I guess we have no choice.” Silence fell again. Chris began to sob then said, “It’s hard for me to see him like this.” Bill Friedman held her hand and said in a consoling tone, “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”

“You’re a dear friend. I came to you to help me.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I hope he won’t lose his job.”

Dr. Friedman looked pensive then said, “Administratively speaking, we have to indicate why he has stopped coming to work. I won’t mention that he’s undergoing psychiatric care because that would be a negative in his professional record. I will consider his absence part of his annual vacation and I’ll ask one of his colleagues to take up his classes.”

“Thank you, Bill.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“I have to go now.”

Bill Friedman got up, shook her hand warmly, and kissed her cheek, saying, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”

Chris left the building and as she drove she thought that her lesser task had been accomplished: now, at least, Salah won’t lose his job. The greater task remained — to move him to the hospital to receive treatment. Unfortunately, she was going to have to be tough with him, so that he could be cured and return to normal. It was for his own good. She no longer remembered their disagreement. She forgot their problems and their agreeing to divorce. All she could think of now was that he was sick and needed her. She couldn’t just let him collapse without doing something for him. Even if he no longer loved her. Even if he wanted to divorce her. Even if he was in love with another woman. Even if he had been deceiving her all those years. She couldn’t give up on him. He was all alone. If she left him, he wouldn’t find anyone by his side. Her tears flowed again; she dabbed her eyes and then parked in front of the hospital. She waited for a few moments until she got a grip on herself then hurried into the building. Half an hour later, she came out accompanied by a young doctor. He sat next to her in her car as she drove and an ambulance followed. They agreed that she would go alone to Salah and try to convince him to go to the hospital. If he refused, the doctor would join her. Ultimately, if he persisted in refusing, the two paramedics would be called upon to give him the injection. The two cars stopped in front of the house. Chris went ahead, opened the door, and looked inside. She sighed and said, “Well, he’s in his study. This should make our task easier.”

She went up the stairs quickly, followed by the doctor. Once in front of the door outside his room, Chris stopped him with her hand and whispered, “Please sit here.”

The doctor nodded and turned, going slowly toward the nearby chair. Chris entered quietly, and as soon as she opened the door she saw the scene that would never leave her mind. Dr. Muhammad Salah, professor of histology at the University of Illinois medical school, was wearing his blue silk pajamas, stretched out on the floor, staring at nothing in particular, as if he had been surprised by something once and forever. There was blood trickling from a deep wound on the side of his head, creating a stain that was getting bigger and bigger on the carpet. Next to his relaxed, outstretched right hand was his old Beretta.

It was a wonderful night to celebrate the victory. Graham and Carol went to the movies then had dinner at the revolving restaurant on top of that famous Chicago tower. As the view through the glass windows changed, Carol clapped and exclaimed in childlike joy. She looked very elegant in an evening gown that revealed her shoulders and decolletage. She had gathered her hair on top of her head, highlighting her beautiful neck, and wore pearl earrings and a necklace. She insisted on ordering an expensive bottle of French wine, and as soon as the waiter turned to leave, Graham asked her, laughing, “Are you sure you can afford to pay for this dinner?”